


Man's Not Hot

by MissMoochy



Series: MissMoochy's Bad Things Happen Bingo Oneshots [5]
Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Caretaking, Crushes, First Kiss, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Love Confessions, M/M, Marvel Fluff Bingo 2021, My First Work in This Fandom, POV Peter Parker, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMoochy/pseuds/MissMoochy
Summary: Johnny's got the yips. He can't make a flame to save his life (or anybody else's). When he does something incredibly risky to shock his powers back, Peter takes it upon himself to help his friend.Marvel Fluff Bingo prompt: [Bed Sharing]Bad Things Happen Bingo: [Hypothermia]
Relationships: Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Series: MissMoochy's Bad Things Happen Bingo Oneshots [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857715
Comments: 6
Kudos: 73
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Man's Not Hot

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Spideytorch fic, so please be kind! I also write mattfoggy (Daredevil) and Spideypool (Spider-Man and Deadpool).

Peter flipped through a few pages and then flung the paper away in disgust. He’d found it on a park bench and instantly recognised his own mask on the front cover. This wasn’t an issue of _The Daily Bugle,_ this was some ratty tabloid with oversized headlines and lurid pictures.

 _MAN’S NOT HOT!_ shrieked the headline. _IS THE HUMAN TORCH A DAMP SQUIB?_

The pictures (which were inferior than the ones in the _Bugle,_ Peter noted with smugness) were wild, action shots, blurry but they clearly showed the battle. Spider-Man and The Human Torch attempting to stop a horde of Doom bots from rampaging the city. The Avengers had eventually rolled up (after all the drama), but they’d been occupied, dealing with Loki and his latest bullshit. It was a bad day to require backup, but Peter had thought he and Johnny had it in hand.

But then, Doom had shown up, striding through the ranks of bots, aiming a ray gun right at Johnny’s head. Johnny had fallen and been too dazed to fight. Afterwards, when Doom had escaped (damn it), the Avengers had arrived and Bruce was attempting to disable the bots, Stark had examined the discarded gun. He declared that it did nothing more than shoot a dazzling ray of energy that made you feel a bit woozy and disoriented, but it would wear off.

Which was a big relief. But not for Johnny.

“I froze up,” he snarled, storming ahead. Peter didn’t think he and Johnny were needed anymore - the Avengers were dealing with it. He was glad to have an excuse to leave, but concerned for his friend.

“Hey, bud, slow down—” He grabbed for Johnny’s arm but he sidestepped him. They were leaving the ravaged street and the crowd of superpowered individuals. It felt weird to walk, not swing. Peter self-consciously patted his mask, made sure it was still secure. He wondered why Johnny wasn’t flying away instead of walking.

“I gotta get out of here, Webs—”

“I’ll come with you. We can hang out—”

“No. I just want to be alone, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter said, bewildered. He watched as he walked away.

* * *

For the new couple of weeks, Johnny kept a low profile. There were no glossy magazine articles depicting Johnny Storm attending some outrageous party. There were no news bulletins about The Human Torch. Reed, Sue and Ben made appearances in the city, they saved a busful of kids from a crater in the ground. Johnny was absent. Peter was worried.

He’d text Johnny but got left on read. He knew the guy’s pride had taken a hit, but Peter had had some embarrassing moments as Spider-Man — he could relate to him! If Johnny would stop licking his wounds and feeling sorry for himself, Peter could be a good friend to him. He missed him. That cheesy grin, the tousled blond hair, his easygoing personality. It sucked, not having him there. A couple of times, Peter swung over to the Statue of Liberty and munched his way through a bag of fries, keeping an eye out for a flying flame. But there was nothing. So, that’s why he was so surprised to hear from Johnny, three nights later.

* * *

Peter was editing a Wikipedia page (there were a lot of inaccuracies on the Spider-Man entry, okay?) when his phone buzzed with a text. His heart kicked up a notch, seeing a familiar name.

Johnny wanted to come over, talk about something. Peter replied, and then had a mini-freakout and a mini-cleanout, throwing junk under his bed. Johnny was more of a slob than he was, but he’d been stressed and tidying everything away hadn’t seem that important lately. But there was part of him that always wanted to impress the handsome, famous Johnny Storm. It’d been that way since he first met him. He felt like their friendship was at a steady place. Even if Peter sometimes got distracted, fanciful fantasies of kissing that burning-hot mouth. He had no time to mope over his ill-advised crush. Johnny needed him.

* * *

Johnny didn’t fly up to his window. He took the stairs, like a regular guy. He looked the same as he ever did, effortlessly cool like some Abercrombie model, somehow managing to make a light-blue t-shirt and jeans look like something fresh off the catwalk. But he was on edge, fidgeting and running a hand through his hair. He looked tired, now that Peter thought about it. He hoped he was sleeping okay.

“So, I don’t want to beat you when you’re down, but you’ve been avoiding me for weeks? And you look rough. What happened to you?” Peter saw no reason to waste time with small talk. He wanted to get to the heart of it. He wasn’t sure if Johnny needed Spider-Man or Peter Parker right now, but he was on hand to help him, no matter what.

Johnny tried a few times to speak, lips twisting in silent vowels, but he gave up each time. Finally, he made some vague gesture in the air and said, “I can’t do it.”

“Huh?”

Johnny swallowed, a wet sound in the back of his throat. “Can’t do it. Can’t make a flame.”

Peter sat up. “Are you serious? What happened?”

Johnny didn’t plop down onto Peter’s bed and lounge there in that insouciant way of his. No, he stood, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot, desperate to leave, too anxious to stay. He wouldn’t make eye contact and Peter was getting a little alarmed. “Ever since we fought Doom. I can’t do it.”

“Have you lost the power? Can you still feel it inside you?”

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah, I can feel it. But I can’t — it’s there and it won’t — like it’s locked up and I can’t — I can’t — I just—”

“Okay, it’s all okay, we’ll figure this out together. Do you want to sit down?”

Johnny raised an eyebrow at that. “You think I’m gonna faint like some old lady?” But he did as Peter said, flopped heavily on the bed and sat there, facing away from him.

“Have you spoken to Dr. Richards about this?”

“Yeah. He did some tests. Sue is worried, Ben has no idea what to say to me, so he’s been keeping his distance. I know it sounds fucked up, but I think he’s afraid of hurting me. As if, me not having powers means I’m this weak, little thing. Like I’m — I’m —”

“Diminished?”

“Yeah? I guess so. He won’t even look me in the eye. He’d stopped shoulder-checking me in the hallway. I can’t believe I actually miss all that dumb, big brother stuff.”

“Families are complicated.” Peter said.

“Tell me about it. Sometimes, I wish I lived with you! I mean, uh—”

Peter dismissed his friend’s awkwardness. He knew that Johnny meant nothing by it, Peter wasn’t going to read into it. “Yeah, no, I get it. We’d be terrible roommates but, hey, it would be fun for a while, right?”

“Roommates,” Johnny said heavily. “Yeah.”

He needed more info. “So, what did the tests say?”

Johnny sighed. “That’s the weird thing. I still have my powers, but I can’t access them. Reed, he said — you’ll love this! — he said he thinks it’s psychological. Like I’m crazy!”

“He doesn’t think you’re crazy,” Peter said automatically, but Johnny wheeled around and stared at him.

“Oh? And how would you know what he thinks? He’s not your family, you don’t know shit — oh, jeez, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m being a really shitty friend—”

“No, it’s all good, you’re under a lot of stress—” Something unravelled in his mind, a new idea. “Does anger work? Um, if you get angry, can you make a flame?”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “We already tried that. Ben was being even more annoying than normal, and we had an argument and that was it. He was trying to make me mad to see if it would unleash something, but it didn’t work. Ever since then, he’s been ignoring me. I don’t think getting angry is going to help anything.”

“Huh.” Peter said. He lapsed into silence, and Johnny, unable to bear the tension, rolled off the bed and began pacing.

“So,” Peter said as Johnny made a looping perimeter of the room. Johnny swung on his heel to face him. “Is there anything else that makes you hot?”

Johnny blanched, his face whitening, his fair eyebrows practically camouflaged amongst the milky skin. “Excuse me?”

As if overcompensating for Johnny’s pallor, Peter felt heat bloom on his cheeks. “Sorry, uh — is there anything that makes you want to… get a flame on?”

Johnny chuckled darkly, and it was so unlike him that Peter frowned. “Nothing I’d be willing to share, sorry.”

“Hmm. Okay, well, I can try and do some research. Come back in a couple of hours, we can collaborate?”

Johnny nodded, heading for the door. “Sure. See you in the funny pages, Webhead.”

* * *

Peter told himself it wasn’t exactly going behind Johnny’s back. He was helping him! He phoned the Reeds and had a brief conversation with them. Reed Richards was convinced the problem was purely psychological, no, he didn’t think Johnny was ‘crazy’ but he did think Johnny was ‘at a certain age and going through some realisations about himself’ — whatever that meant. He took the opportunity to thank Peter was being such a good friend to Johnny and to make sure that he felt Peter was going to remain his friend, no matter what happened. Peter felt that there was something the doctor wasn’t saying, but he couldn’t very well ask him and Richards didn’t divulge anymore, so Peter thanked him for his time and ended the call.

* * *

Two hours slipped by, and then two more. Peter changed into his pyjamas. He paced around, listening to Johnny’s sunny voice on his voicemail, but he wasn’t about to panic about nothing, perhaps Johnny was distracted, maybe he’d made a new friend? He was probably fine. He was — yeah, but even so…

Peter should probably suit up. He laid his clothes down and was trying to get gunk out of one of his web-shooters when he heard the intercom ring. _Johnny._

He didn’t unlock the door from his apartment, he rushed out, still in his pyjamas and greeted Johny at the entrance.

Johnny was soaking wet. He was still wearing his sky-blue t-shirt and dark blue jeans, but they both stuck to his skin, the jeans looking as black and shiny as a symbiote’s skin. His hair was plastered to his forehead, with droplets of water dribbling down his cheek like tears. And he was shivering so violently, that he seemed to be having trouble standing; He swayed on his feet.

“Oh, God,” Peter said, and he grabbed him, hoisted him up in his arms. Johnny didn’t protest, but he did slump a little in Peter’s arms. At least he was conscious, but his skin felt too cool. Johnny always ran a hot temperature, but now, he was worrying cold.

* * *

Peter dumped him on his bed and Johnny moaned and tried to sit up, but Peter pushed him back down.

“I — I don’t know what the hell you did, but you need to warm up, your lips are blue, oh, do I run a hot bath? Or do I wrap you in blankets? Okay, we need to get you out of those wet clothes—”

“No…” Johnny moaned, even tried to duck away from Peter’s hands. Peter felt a twinge of sympathy, but there were more important things than Johnny’s modesty (not that the guy had had much of that to begin with).

“This isn’t the time to be shy,” he said, peeling off Johnny’s wet shirt. “You could get hypothermia. What were you doing? How did you get so wet? It isn’t even raining!”

“Jumped—in—river—” Johnny panted.

“What? The — did you jump in the _Hudson?_ In the middle of the winter? What the fuck, Johnny!” Peter’s voice shook. He couldn’t believe how stupid Johnny was being. “You could have drowned!”

“Nah,” Johnny mumbled, slumping back on the mattress. “I’m okay…”

Peter’s hands were shaking but he resolutely unbuckled Johnny’s belt and yanked his heavy, sodden jeans off his legs. His calves were so pale and prickling with gooseflesh. “Let me guess, genius. You thought you could shock yourself into getting a flame on? You thought being really cold would make your powers come back by force?”

“It was a good plan,” Johnny said. At least he seemed more alert now, sitting back on the bed on his elbows, with his legs hanging down. He watched Peter struggle with the knots on his wet sneakers. “Cut them off, if you want. I got loads of pairs.”

“You’re a fool,” Peter told him. “And you don’t deserve me and Reed and Sue and Ben worrying about you.”

“You’re right,” Johnny said. “I don’t.”

Peter glanced up, but Johnny was avoiding his eyes. For the first time that day, Peter touched him, laid a comforting hand on Johnny’s knee. It felt unbearably cold to him, the thin skin stretched over bone. He looked down at the two pale legs and tried to rub some life into them. Johnny let him, and leaned over and patted Peter on the shoulder.

“I don’t deserve you guys. Especially you. I’m — I’m sorry, Peter.”

“Shut up,” Peter said, but there was no anger there. “I like worrying about you. But I think you need to take better care of yourself.”

“If I get through this, I will.”

“Then, that’s good enough for me.” Johnny’s legs already felt warmer under his hands.” Awkward moment, but we need to get your underwear off.”

“I knew it,” Johnny declared. “You only want me for my body!”

“Totally,” Peter said, deadpan and unimpressed. “I’m a total sleaze. Do you think you can stand up?”

“Officially, yes. Unofficially, my legs feel like jello.”

* * *

Peter helped him strip, pointedly looking away, and then helped guide Johnny’s numb limbs into Peter’s oldest, cosiest pair of PJs. Then, he tucked him in the bed, and threw as many blankets on it as he could, and even a few coats.

“Coats as blankets? That’s creative.” Johnny said, watching as Peter threw yet another parka on the pile of blankets.

“When I was living with May, we were really poor. We used to use our coats as blankets, sometimes. It helped.”

Johnny snuggled down, and his hair stuck up on end like a baby chick’s. “Wish I’d known you back then. I woulda bought you a Ferarri.”

Peter snorted. “How would a Ferarri keep my bed warm?”

Johnny shrugged, but it might have been another shiver. “It would attract hot babes, and _they_ would keep your bed warm?”

“Okay, you must be feeling better if you’re making terrible jokes like that. Budge up,”

“Huh?”

Peter spoke slowly. “I’m getting in there with you. Body heat will warm you up in no time.”

“I don’t think that’s a good—” Johnny started but Peter had already wriggled under the covers. “Oh, God, you feel so warm, Peter, that’s really nice.”

Peter switched off the lamp and the room went black.

“Get closer,”

“Yeah,” Johnn sighed, burrowing deeper into the bed. He rested his head on Peter’s chest, dripping cold water on him, but Peter couldn’t find it in his heart to complain. They laid like that for a while.

Johnny felt warmer than he had before, and he wasn’t shivering as much or as hard. Peter worked an arm over Johnn’s shoulder and rubbed his back. Johnny moaned contentedly, arching his back like a cat.

Peter jumped, feeling something hot and quivery brush his fingertips.

“Sorry, did I elbow you in the gut or something?” Johnny asked him, his voice too close and loud.

Peter shook his head, running his fingers over Johnny’s hot, smooth back, trying to see if he could recapture the sensation. Wait — _hot?_

“Did you just — make a _flame?_ ”

Johnny tensed, in their dark cocoon of blankets. “I don’t know. Did I? I feel better, I don’t feel as cold and…hollowed-out as I did before...”

“I touched you and I felt this hotness, under your skin.”

Johnny was silent for a long moment. Then: “Do it again?”

Peter rubbed his hand up and down Johnny’s back and when he reached the last bump of his tailbone, Johnny shivered and there was that electric bolt of white-hot energy again. Peter felt the hairs on his arm rise on end, and the blankets already felt hotter, absorbing Johnny’s heat. “Johnny! You’re doing it! How are you doing this? Don’t tell me it was the Hudson, I’m going to get Doctor Richards to give you a checkup tomorrow, there are all kinds of gross bacteria in the river!”

Johnny lifted one arm over the covers and rubbed two fingers together. A flame, small and amber-orange, welled up in the webbing between his fingers. He and Peter watched it flicker and dance. “Peter. When you asked me what gets me hot and I wouldn’t tell you. It— ugh—”

Peter waited.

“ _You_ get me hot. Not in a — I mean, not like a creepy way. But sometimes, I think about you. Your eyes or your lips or that annoying smart-mouth of yours, and I can’t help myself, I flame up. I came out to my family a few weeks ago. I’m bi.”

“Oh _,_ ” he said. “Okay.”

“Yeah. They’re cool with it. They, uh, Sue, she worked out that I have a crush and she gave me a long talk, which was all kinds of embarrassing but I know she just wants me to be happy.”

Peter could have had a building fall on him and he wouldn’t even realise. Johnny liked guys! Johnny liked him. Suddenly, something that had seemed to unattainable was right here, lying in his bed and wearing flannel pyjamas.

“So, anyway—” Johnny was saying. “It’s cool if you don’t feel the same way, but I hope we can still be friends? I don’t want things to get awkward—”

“Is it a physical thing?” Peter said, interrupting him. “You like my body, or—”

Johnny pursed his lips, that pretty-boy pout blew soft air on the flame and it faded into nothing. The room was dark once more. “It’s not your body, it’s you. All the time, Peter. Its always you.”

He could do this. He was Spider-Man, he was brave, he was— absolutely terrified. But in the blanketing blackness of the room, with Johnny’s hot, muscled flank pressed against his, he felt a little bolder. “I think about you too, Johnny. If _I_ could make flames, thinking about you would set me on fire. Seriously. I’d burn down the whole city by accident!”

Johnny laughed, a soft sound in the night. “You’re Spider-Man, you’d figure out a way to save us all. Wait, really? You think I’m—”

Peter pressed a kiss to Johnn’s jaw and felt heat pulse in the patch his lips had touched. “Yeah, I do.”


End file.
